1Alison Saar (born 1956 in Los Angeles) is a sculptor and mixed-media artist who lives and works in Los Angeles. Her work interweaves themes of the African diaspora, black female identity and spirituality, often using found objects and figurative forms to explore history, memory and transformation. Saar has exhibited widely, with major shows and public commissions internationally, and continues to expand her practice across sculpture, installation. In 2024, she was commissioned by the International Olympic Committee and the City of Paris to create the bronze and stone sculpture titled “Salon”, permanently installed on the Champs-Élysées for the Olympic and Paralympic Games. In 2025, she received the prestigious David C. Driskell Prize for her major contributions to African American art, recognized by the High Museum of Art as a “field-defining” artist.

“Sweet Life”

2Galerie Lelong (Paris), May 15 – July 11 2025
35 avenue de Matignon, 75008 Paris, France

9The first piece Alison Saar chooses to present to the group of happy-few visitors attending the tour is Rebirth of the Sable Venus, conceived both as a tapestry and also as a small size sculpture. They feature the same Venus figure emerging from a seashell – more warrior-like than Botticelli’s iconic Venus, as the one she portrayed is brandishing a machete in one hand, while holding a conch shell in the other hand. The combination of sea elements and weaponry suggests a journey from ocean to plantation and a call to resistance and revolt, a theme already introduced in her earlier and visually similar work Mutiny of the Sable Venus (2022). By invoking the ocean, Saar refers to the Middle Passage and the forced diasporic displacement endured by African slaves to reach the Americas. She also draws on the figure of Yemaya, Goddess of the sea, a protective and nurturing symbol, but here reimagined as a belligerent figure. The Venus is transformed from a passive, idealized female form into an agent of power and resilience, with the machete standing as a potent symbol of struggle.

10These pieces also illustrate Saar’s talent for repurposing overlooked materials, such as discarded tin sheets and seed sacks. Her use of found and recycled objects is central to her practice; she used the same technique in Tips from the Boneyard (2024), an acrylic painting on seed sacks framed with dominoes. The sacks are meaningful for the artists because they also allude to Back labor. This approach based on reutilizing and transforming cast-off items is influenced by her mother, Betye Saar, a pioneer of assemblage art who used every day domestic items to address issues of race, gender, and memory. It also belongs to a long lineage of African American craftsmanship and artistry, sustained by women and rooted in the economic hardships they historically faced. Quilt makers, as well as artists like Clementine Hunter, reclaimed discarded objects to produce new creations that bore witness to the lives, struggles, and traditions of the Black community.

11Presented as the centerpiece in the gallery's window on the prestigious Avenue de Matignon, Queen of the Boneyard (2025), made with wood, ceiling tin, wire and dominoes, is another example of how Saar recuperates waste materials to construct noble figures. This sculpture refers to the Amazons of the kingdom of Dahomey (present-day Benin), using the trivial to produce grandeur. The dominoes form a kind of armor for this warrior-like figure, while the iron wire shapes an Afro-like hairdo, reminiscent of the 1970s political claims associated with natural hair and Black pride. When discussing her work with Marie Siguier, Alison Saar emphasizes the cultural and emotional importance of hair care as both a bonding space among Black women and an intergenerational experience of Black femininity. With the title, she continues her signature play on words: “boneyard” traditionally refers to a cemetery, but also evokes a scrapyard for obsolete objects, and finally, a pile of unused dominoes. Saar’s Boneyard series (which also includes Crossroad Shuffle, 2024) serves as a metaphor for discarded histories, overlooked labor, and the lingering traces of exploitation. At the same time, she invokes the ghostlike presence of ancestors and spirits who accompany the living, grounding the work in both mourning and spiritual continuity. Saar also emphasizes the importance of conviviality and togetherness, symbolized by the act of domino playing, an enduring tradition within African American communities, where it functions not only as a pastime but as a moment of camaraderie and of intergenerational bonding, and shared joy in the face of adversity.

12Family links are another central thread in the show, though these ties are damaged or distorted by the evil of slavery. A compelling comparison can be made between two pieces which were not presented together. Crème de la Crème (2025) is displayed on the ground floor, while Lait Sucré (2025) is placed in the final room upstairs. They address the issue of motherhood under slavery. Crème de la Crème portrays a Black mother with two mixed-race children, offspring of her enslaver and a chilling reflection of slave breeding practices. This small-scale statue depicts a scene of motherly love and tenderness, despite the violence of the rape which led to the birth of these children. The nudity of the figure emphasizes their fragility and the only supposed protection is a crinoline – often associated with refinement and sophistication – that here appears as a white, hypocritical cage. The helplessness of the mother, whose intimacy and secrets are exposed to all eyes, reveals the utter lack of agency experienced by enslaved women and children who were the most vulnerable in the exploitative and inhumane system. The title refers literally to the cream of milk – the richest, most nutritious part – but more pointedly invokes the French expression crème de la crème, meaning “the very best” or the social elite. In this context, it echoes the act of refining sugar to make it whiter, purer and therefore more valuable, drawing a parallel with how mixed-race children were perceived as closer to whiteness and thus ranked higher within the racial hierarchies of slaveholding society – hierarchies that persisted through segregation and continue shaping racist ideologies today.

13Lait Sucré (2025) delves into the disturbing situation of enslaved women forced to nurse the children of their enslavers. The sculpture portrays a pregnant female figure, whose full, overflowing breasts suggest an abundance of milk – but not for her own child. The title, Lait Sucré, literally “sweetened milk”, is laced with irony because it evokes nourishment and tenderness. Yet, in this context, it reflects a deeply bitter reality as enslaved women were routinely separated from their infants, often sold to other plantations and deprived of maternal care. These same women were then made to lactate for the benefit of white children, their bodies treated as feeding machines. The sculpture captures this unbearable contradiction: the physical ability to nurture and the systemic denial of the emotional and familial bonds that make motherhood meaningful. Saar’s figure carries life, but her own child is absent. The bodily fullness becomes a symbol of loss as much as sustenance.

14In the final room of the gallery, a group of three white ceramic busts (Sweet Life, Fleur, L’Utile II, 2025) is presented, their surfaces resembling sugar and recalling the decorative sugar sculptures once used to display wealth and extravagance. These pieces also refer to the vast wealth generated by the sugar trade, which supported the growth of other industries in Europe, including the porcelain industry. The busts represent three enslaved women and are intentionally disquieting, confronting viewers with the physical and emotional reality of slavery. Two of the figures are bare-chested and wear torture devices historically used to prevent enslaved people from escaping. One bears a collar with bells, meant to deter future escape attempts after being recaptured; the other wears a punishment collar fitted with spikes, adorned with French fleurs-de-lys. Saar, who created these busts in collaboration with her daughter Maddy, a ceramist artist, chose to include scars from whippings and branding irons – some in the shape of a fleur-de-lys, symbolizing the French crown’s direct role in the institution of slavery and its determination to mark and control enslaved bodies. These torture devices, wounds and mutilations underline the brutal truth that African slaves were treated as disposable property and subjected to horrific violence at the hands of their owners.

15As for L’Utile II, it refers to a vessel of the French East India Company that was transporting enslaved Malagasy individuals when it wrecked on Tromelin Island on July 31, 1761. The crew abandoned around 60 enslaved people on the island with minimal provisions and empty promises of rescue. These men and women were left to survive in extreme isolation, and only nine were still alive when help finally arrived 15 years later. The tragedy reflects the utter disregard for Black lives at the time, whose survival was seen as expendable in the eyes of colonial powers. The statue depicts a woman in a posture reminiscent of 18th-century European portrait busts. Unlike the two other sculptures, she is draped in an elegant veil that lends her a sense of solemnity. What immediately draws the viewer’s attention is the ship delicately perched atop her head, resembling a sophisticated hat or a strange crown. This elaborate coiffure serves as an ironic adornment, charged with a haunting historical weight. Despite her serene expression, the woman becomes a personification of transatlantic suffering and displacement. The ship rests like a burden above her head, as she strives to remain composed and dignified in the face of historical trauma. The three busts also challenge the traditional canons of classical portrait sculpture, a genre historically reserved for wealthy white elites. By centering the figures of enslaved Black women, Alison Saar subverts the exclusivity of this form and makes it a space for visibility and historical reckoning. While enslaved people were rarely the subjects of formal portraiture, they occasionally appeared in European paintings, most often as anonymous servants or exoticized accessories. One striking example is Jeune Nègre tenant un arc by Hyacinthe Rigaud (1697), which portrays a young Black servant wearing an iron collar – a painful reminder of his status as property.

Interview

17Clémentine Tholas: Was your solo show “Sweet Life” first presented in Paris, or did it evolve from earlier shows in the U.S.? Do you envision the exhibition traveling further? If so, where might it go next?

18Alison Saar: “Sweet Life” is entirely new work, created for the show at Galerie Lelong. I actually was partially inspired by the location of the gallery, because it is about a block from the Embassy for the Dominican Republic and a couple of blocks further away is the Embassy for Haiti. That proximity really resonated with the themes I wanted to explore, especially as I’ve previously worked with the symbolism of cotton and began developing an interest in sugarcane – its major exporters, and the countries historically involved in the sugar trade and slavery. Namely these two countries and Louisiana as well. The show was made in relation to these historical elements and imagined also in relation to the architecture of the building itself. Upstairs, there is this beautiful, ornate plasterwork in a Rococo style that instantly reminded me of sugar sculptures and confectionery ornamentation, mimicking the Marie Antoinette style. This room felt special for these particular pieces I was thinking of. The space didn’t just host the sculptures, it actively inspired them.

19CT: You know that Avenue de Matignon is where the offices of the French Prime Minister are also located. It is very amusing that your exhibition was standing in this very same street, because it challenges the idea of power.

20AS: I didn't realize that. But we're not far from the Petit Palais which is a charged space to have that conversation about representations of slavery.

21CT: Can you tell me more how about how you started working with Galerie Lelong? When did the collaboration begin and how do you feel about this collaboration at the/ on an? artistic and emotional levels?

22AS: I'm only currently represented by a gallery in Los Angeles, LA Louver which has a really great relationship with Galerie Lelong. Even a friendship. They also specialize in prints and the other part of my practice is largely printmaking. They had a show of my prints and they had worked directly with my print producer, Tandem Press. So that’s the connection. Two years ago, they organized an exhibition of just my prints and they approached LA Louver and asked if they could work together and represent me in Europe in order to do this show in Paris. I didn't really know them before, even if I was familiar with Lelong’s branch in New York because I go to the galleries there. But having never really spent any time in Paris, I just wasn't familiar with the French team of the gallery on a personal level.

23CT: When in Paris, you met with Mariane Ibrahim and went to her gallery a few blocks from Galerie Lelong. What do you think of her work, namely her specializing in representing African-American artists and artists of African descent? How would you compare what she's doing and what Galerie Lelong is doing?

24AS: Lelong has a broader reach. It is true that they represent me and also Barthélémy Togo, from Cameroon. As for Mariane Ibrahim, discovering her gallery was just brand new. In fact, it wasn't until after I'd visited Lelong and we were just walking down the street that I saw the gallery and went in and discovered the artists she was showing. It was such an amazing find. She showed us her little bookshop and incredible publications I had never seen because they don’t make it to the States. And so that was just really incredible. I know there are other galleries that just show Black American artists, but I think it was the classiest presentation that I've come across. It would be nice if there were more galleries that could do the same. But I suppose sometimes artists feel that they'd rather be in a pool that's more general and so they can be seen by collectors that aren't familiar or aren't looking specifically for African American or African art. It is complicated to break down those boundaries. It remains very important to have galleries specializing in African American artists because it is a power in terms of serving the community. At the same time, those specialized spaces could unintentionally give people an excuse not to engage with the work as if it doesn’t concern them, or isn’t part of the broader art conversation. That kind of framing can empower artists and communities, but it can also reinforce separation. It really cuts both ways

25CT: Being in the US at the moment, I see that your work is everywhere. You have an enormous recognition here, in each museum. I was wondering if it is complicated to appeal to audiences that are not American? How do you feel about reaching out to European audiences or artistic and cultural institutions that are less familiar with your work?

26AS: I would say I'm virtually unknown in Europe. I showed some work in the Netherlands at Wouter Welling’s space. He had exhibited a few pieces of mine. I also had some work presented at the Bonnefantenmuseum in Maastricht and they actually own several of my pieces. But beyond that, I haven’t exhibited in Europe at all. To be honest, I was really anxious and frightened of how “Sweet Life” would be received on a number of levels. Not on a purely artistic level, but also on a political level. In the United States, everything tends to be very direct, even confrontational at times, and I wasn't sure if that kind of approach would resonate in Europe, or specifically in France. I was very anxious about people thinking it was too obvious or too overtly political. And considering I don’t have the same recognition in Europe as in the U.S., I was anxious that people would even come to see the show. I'm still not sure how the work has been received or whether the show was considered a success. That said, I was really pleased with how everything came together. The gallery did a wonderful job, and I was genuinely happy with the installation and the overall presentation. I also appreciated the public programming, like the talk with the Pompidou curators we had during Paris Gallery Weekend. That gathering really meant a lot, and it felt like an important moment of exchange. I was really pleased with all the efforts but I have to admit, we haven't seen much financial success from it, at least not yet. So I’m still uncertain about how it’s been received overall. The jury is definitely still out, and I remain nervous.

27CT: I think Galerie Lelong made a strategic choice by connecting with the Centre Pompidou around the time of “Paris Noir”. That moment saw a real push to promote Black artists—those based in Paris or drawn to the city’s artistic legacy. But there’s a growing sense of concern that this momentum might have been short-lived. For example, the Pompidou Center recently canceled Van Levé, a major exhibition focused on Caribbean artists that was scheduled for 2026. While the official explanation cites financial reasons, there are suspicions that deeper political or institutional motivations may be at work. The worry is that, after “Paris Noir”, the institution might feel it has ‘done its part’ with regard to Black artists and does not need to continue along this line.

29CT: Beyond your gallery exhibitions, you're also deeply involved in public art. Do you approach these two kinds of work differently? What shifts for you when you're preparing a gallery show versus a public sculpture?

30AS: I actually think of my work in three separate tiers: printmaking, studio practice, and public art. My first public commission was back in the early 1990s in New York. There's always a crucial lesson to be learned with every public commission because it's complicated. Public art, in particular, requires a different kind of language. It’s definitely more toned down. It can't be outrightly political, it has to show less nudity and less sexual content. So the work is modified and maybe self-censored in a way, to make it more generally palatable. That's the challenge: making a piece that can be accepted by the general public, which includes very young people like children and older adults who have certain ideas as to what is and isn't permissible. I grew up in an artistic family where anything goes but I know that you need to consider diversity at very different levels. Public art is about trying to find this balance where it is fine for the public but it still feels powerful and like my work is in my hand. You also have to create works in permanent materials, and much of my work is made out of found materials. I feel that the materials carry a memory of their previous existence, which is why I recycle these materials. But when I create pieces in bronze, this embedded history is not available to be part of the conversation. Public commissions are also expensive and tricky as you have to go through many meetings and many people telling you what they want and what they don't want. Moreover, it is a long process during which you're often waiting, especially when the fabricators have issues of their own, things are delayed. Public art can be a big headache. But at the same time, there’s something incredibly rewarding about seeing the work installed, out in the world, creating its own presence.

31It was really interesting working on the piece for Paris. The fabricators were fabulous. Maddy, my daughter, and I spent a month in Auvergne and just worked, and everyone was kind and supportive. It was a great opportunity to learn how to work with different materials. We found an incredible stone master carver who completely understood what I was aiming for and was able to make the stone base really complement the sculpture. It was probably my easiest art commission and everything was on time. And so that was fantastic, despite having to go in the middle of nowhere. We also considered another art foundry that was close to Versailles but I love the fact that the Auvergne foundry we picked was in the middle of nowhere. It was even more meaningful knowing that Pauline, the owner, had taken over the foundry from her father. The place is now run by a young woman (and she was very pregnant while we were working together). They were also making the point to hire local artisans to keep jobs in the region and prevent people moving away from the area.

32CT: Do you think that this commission public art for the Olympic enabled you to prepare for the “Sweet Life” exhibition? Was it easier to imagine showing “Sweet Life” in Paris because people already knew about your public art?

33AS: I love the location selected for Salon, right near the Petit Palais. I didn’t fully realize its significance until I got there and saw all the structures that were surrounding to really understand the history of that space. Yet, the garden where it is displayed is off the beaten path for most people. Unless you happen to cross through that park, you would never see the artwork. And when the Olympic Games were happening, the whole area was barricaded, so you couldn’t even access the statue. So I’m not sure people have really made the connection between Salon and the gallery show. That said, I was happy to spend time in Paris because the last time I was there was more than 15 years ago. It was a good experience which helped me shed some of the anxiety about being somewhere for a long period of time, outside of my own backyard.

34CT: What about your collaboration with your daughter Maddy for “Sweet Life” ? You mentioned you already worked together for Salon.

35AS: I worked for my mother and father when my sisters and I were growing up. My father was an art conservator. I worked for my mother one some of the pieces she created. In fact, I'm looking at a piece in the corner called Spirit Catcher, which belongs to my son, but I'm keeping it here so it'll be safe. This piece was made in the 1970s and I helped make it. My mother used to pay us to be her studio assistants, and I’ve followed that tradition with my own kids. I remember I have video of Maddy : she was seven or eight and she was helping me with my Harriet Tubman sculpture ; it was my first really large public commission and it is now in New York City in Harlem. Maddy is a ceramic artist who works primarily in clay, and she has the dexterity and three-dimensional understanding that a lot of assistants – who tend to be painters – don’t necessarily bring. So it’s really great having someone sculptural like her assisting with my work. When working on Salon, since we were going to live in some small little cottage together for a month in the middle of nowhere, I didn't feel I could drag another person than Maddy in Auvergne. She's really talented and great. Right now, she's focusing on her own creations, but she also works three days a week for my mother, and sometimes one day a week for me. I think she enjoys it because she’s getting to know my mom more deeply and spending good, meaningful time with her grandmother. That schedule is always flexible—when she has a show coming up, she shifts her focus to that.

37CT: How do you use archival research to prepare for the show? You said that you were trained first as an art historian, how does it help you?

39CT: How long did it take you to create the different pieces in “Sweet Life”? Between the historical research and the actual making process, when did you start working on this particular exhibition?

40AS: I started working on the “Sweet Life” show right around the time that Salon was unveiled, so less than a year ago. I usually take two years to create a show. One year seems a little crazy. It was even less because I didn't really begin until the end of the summer 2024. Thankfully, I had Maddy’s help for some of the ceramic aspects, and I was also working with two studio assistants, which made the process move more quickly. Some of the works, like the prints featuring Sable Venus and Yemaya, were developed earlier in collaboration with Tandem Press the year before. The sculpture of Sable Venus was made specifically for “Sweet Life”, but the print predates the show. I worked incredibly hard to complete everything within that compressed timeline. I also spent time researching at the Getty’s Decorative Arts Department – John Paul Getty had a deep interest in early French decorative art, which informed the atmosphere and themes of the show.

41CT: What are your upcoming projects?

42AS: I have just finished two art commissions and here may be another one coming up soon. For now, I have a brand new empty studio and time to start researching. I think I need to teach myself how to play dominoes, so I can do more work looking at dominoes.

43CT: Talking about these dominoes, I remember various pieces included them. During the walking tour of the show, you mentioned that these specific artworks were about intergenerational links and the presence of ancestors, spirituality, supernatural aspects.

44AS: The show was undeniably dark and heavy, so I wanted to have a little bit of levity in it as a counterpoint. While addressing this dark history, I also wanted to evoke the deep sense of resilience and the joy of having survived and the daily, of continuing to live full, vibrant lives despite the lingering racial repercussions of enslavement. So, these dominoes played a big role in that. They were believed to have been brought to the Caribbean by the French and were easily made from bones or scraps of wood. They became a form of recreation for people aboard the ships, so from very early on, the game traveled through the slave trade and took root in the Americas. These dominoes are also deeply personal. They take me back to childhood summers spent with my grandparents while my parents traveled. My grandparents would spend hours in the backyard playing dominoes. As kids, we were never invited to the table but it was just fascinating to observe because these moments were loud and boisterous; people were jiving and teasing, being silly and funny, they feigned anger, etc. It was a very lively and theatrical sport. And I just loved that. I started collecting a lot of dominoes to use in the pieces because of this childhood experience. They also talk to people who had a similar experience growing up because dominoes were the evening pastime on the stoop, on the street. This game is both connected with the diaspora and a really fond personal memory of those magical summer evenings

45CT: Was there a piece in “Sweet Life” that you found particularly challenging to create? And on the flip side, was there one that came together more easily or felt more instinctive for you?

46AS: Those ceramic busts were really difficult for me because they were so dark. I was really concerned about how people would react to them. During the gallery walkthrough, one woman was visibly offended. It raised a very important question: how much of that terrible history of enslavement do we want to keep in the limelight? Unfortunately, there are people who still embrace those images and ideas about white supremacy and violence, and there’s always the risk that these images could be misappropriated. Also these busts could be seen as pieces continuing the pain. It is tricky and many artists, including my mother, work with really painful images. For instance, she has created pieces around lynchings. Making and presenting the three busts was really difficult because they confront these historical issues in order to transcend them and to show how people were able to survive them. This idea of survival is paramount. We avoided a difficult moment during the opening because another visitor pointed out that the instruments of torture shown on the busts—like collars and branding marks—actually highlight the fact that these women resisted. These scars were signs that they had claimed agency and paid the price for it. Another layer of complexity was the material itself. These piece are black figures portrayed as white. Technically they were also difficult to make because there were cracks and problems with the ceramics because I was new to the technique.

47On the other hand, the easiest one would be The Queen of the Boneyard. It only required gluing all this wood together and waiting it for drying, then I carved them with chainsaw which was very physical. Thankfully, I had an assistant help with the hair because it took weeks to create. Although it was labor-intensive, it didn’t feel emotionally heavy because I wasn't really overly burdened with the story. This Queen sculpture is a light thing and it refers to the Dahomey Amazons, as they were called, the female army in Dahomey. Therefore, it was fun and it felt light but also powerful. Besides, this woman with her hot pants on felt very contemporary. For me, this piece was a release and a joy to make, even though it took lot of work.

48CT: I used to imagine the life of an artist as a solitary practice, but your work seems to involve a real sense of collaboration—especially with your assistants and your daughter. Do you see this collaborative approach as part of your legacy?

49AS: I have worked without assistants for a long time. But even early on in my career, I would often be approached by students who would work for me and get credit. One of my assistants, Angelica, first joined me while she was in junior college. She later went to grad school and still comes back to help from time to time. In fact, she recently joined us at the foundry in France. It is good to be able to share with people in the studio to make sure that artmaking does not become too insular. Even on days when I don’t feel like going into the studio, knowing I have assistants relying on me keeps me accountable and on schedule. Having them around means having to be present for them all the time and knowing exactly what I need them to do. While I’ve worked with men before – my first assistant 40 years ago was a young man who now has a family and a thriving career – I’ve mostly worked with women. That’s partly intentional. Many sculpture studios won’t hire women because they consider they lack the strength or technical skills. I take pride in hiring women because they do have the skills and they deeply understand the energy of my studio and the meaning behind the work. It upsets me that some people are still heavily prejudiced. For instance, I recently spoke to sculptor who does a lot of welding. He has all-male studio assistants and he brought a woman in his team. The artist complained that the female assistant couldn't handle it but I think she was put off by the toxic environment. Instead of claiming that people should not hire women, it would be better to address the misogyny problems in the studios. There a lot of women out there, like myself, who are eager and fully capable of welding, casting, and building but they don't necessarily get the opportunity with other male artists. Most people are too ashamed to admit that male chauvinism is persistent in studios.